


Snapshots

by tinydooms



Category: The Mummy (1999), The Mummy Series
Genre: Character studies, Christmas, F/M, Found Family, Gen, Ghosts, Magic, Married Couple, Married Sex, Museums, PTSD, Pregnancy, Smut, artefacts - Freeform, beach holiday, family traditions, food glorious food, lady scholars being badass, shameless fluff, small scenes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:33:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 7,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27703519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinydooms/pseuds/tinydooms
Summary: Glimpses into lives in progress.Story 14: There is a Thing that Alex can do, that he hasn’t told anyone about. He learned how to do it at Ahm Shere, in that terrible half hour between his mother’s death and her resurrection. And that is to Bring People Back.
Relationships: Evy Carnahan O'Connell/Rick O'Connell
Comments: 70
Kudos: 41





	1. Bodley

**Bodley**

_Oxford, England, 1924_

Rick leans against the decorative iron gate and waits for Evie to emerge from the library. His companion in waiting, standing on the plinth behind him, is Sir Thomas Bodley, founder of the library that bears his name, keeping watch over the courtyard. It is cold outside, the tail-end of November, but non-scholars are not allowed into the library. Rick doesn’t mind; he knows how to amuse himself while Evie works on her dissertation. But the sky is darkening, streetlights beginning to flicker on, and Evie will appear through the massive doors any minute now, her arms full of papers and ink smudging her fingers. Rick rocks on his feet, chilly. The grey skies are heavy, threatening snow. Time to head home. 

There. Evie comes out of the Bodleian in a crowd of students and scholars, all of them indistinguishable in academic dress. Rick would recognize Evelyn anywhere; her cap is askew and her eyes are bright. He hurries to relieve her of her heavy leather briefcase, bends to kiss her. 

“How was your day?”

“Fine, thanks. Busy. I could murder a cup of tea right now.”

“Did you wake anything up?”

“No!”

Evie laughs and swats him, threads her arm through his. Rick folds his hand around hers and puts both into his coat pocket. They walk home together through the winding medieval streets, home to tea and books and interesting conversation, and neither can help but reflect on how lucky they are. 

Author's Note: this is the first in a series of short fics I wrote in response to prompt requests on Tumblr. If you'd like to request a story, [please feel free!](https://tinydooms.tumblr.com/ask)


	2. Puddles

**Puddles**

_Carnahan House, Buckinghamshire, Spring 1902_

“Did you know that if you jump into a puddle hard enough, you’ll end up in China?”

“Jonathan Carnahan, that is Not True!”

At five, Evie is very concerned with telling the difference between True and Not True. There are things about which she is not yet certain and sometimes, she can be persuaded to believe in the Obviously False. Jonathan, being ten, is having an inordinate amount of fun with this. 

“It’s true,” he insists, keeping his face serious. “Look, I’ll show you.”

He splashes into a puddle, jumps up and down hard enough to spatter mud everywhere.

“Come on, Evie! Help me break through!”

Evie hangs back. “I don’t want to go to China.”

Jonathan jumps from one puddle to another. “Oh, come on, it’ll be fun! Do you know, in China they write with pictures? Just like in Egypt!”

That catches her interest. Evie is a pretty good reader and Father has promised to start teaching her to read hieroglyphs soon. She looks at the puddles littering the park behind their house. 

“Alright,” she says, and tentatively jumps into one. Muddy water displaces with a tidy little  _ splat _ . 

Jonathan groans. “Come on, Evie, you have to really _ jump _ !” 

Jonathan demonstrates. Mud flies everywhere. Evie tries again. She finds that there is something rather satisfying in dirtying her wellies, in muddying her petticoats. Better than satisfying: this is _ fun _ ! The siblings bounce from puddle to puddle, and soon Evie bounds ahead of Jonathan, hoping to break through to China before her does. All of a sudden, she vanishes, feet first, into a puddle rather deeper than it looks. 

“Evie!” Jonathan howls. 

His sister bobs to the surface, screeching. Jonathan flings himself down beside her and hauls her out of the puddle, panting in fright. Once they are safely back on the path, he bursts out laughing at the sight of Evie soaked from head to toe in mud. Evie does not laugh. She is too busy sobbing from the fright. 

“That wasn’t China!” she wails, and Jonathan laughs harder from relief. 

But he is nothing if not a good big brother, and so wraps her in his jacket and puts his arm around her as they hurry home. He knows he’s going to get into trouble for this, even if it was an accident. He’s not wrong: Salwa gives a gasp of horror when she sees her daughter looking like she’s just crawled from the grave. 

The elder Carnahans do not believe in beating their children or denying them dinner as punishment, but Jonathan sulks on the sofa at teatime while Evie, freshly bathed, gets to eat his portion of cake while he only gets bread and butter. 

Author's Note: another prompt over on Tumblr! I need to explore more young Evie and Jonathan. Please let me know what you think in the comments! 


	3. Star-gazing

**Star-gazing**

_The Western Desert on the road to Hamunaptra, October 1922_

Evie sits on her bedroll on the desert ground, looking up at the stars. They burn so brightly out here, far from the bright city lights. It is wondrous to think that these same stars have glittered over humanity for thousands of years, that she is not so different from the ancient Egyptians who once turned their faces to the heavens. She knows that she should go to sleep, that Mr. O’Connell will wake them in a few hours to complete the ride to Hamunaptra by sunrise, but she can’t help herself. It’s been years since she lay out at night and looked at the Milky Way. 

“Have you seen it before?”

Evie looks around at Mr. O’Connell, lying wrapped in blankets about three feet away. Watching her. 

“Yes,” she says, “but it never gets any less beautiful.”

O’Connell smiles. “I always want to come out here with a telescope and get a good look. Did it once, a year or two ago. Stars look pretty amazing up close.”

Evie blinks at him, astonished. “You did? Why?”

She cannot conceive of a narrative where this man would have gotten hold of a powerful telescope for astronomical study. O’Connell sees the look on her face; when he answers, his voice is wry. 

“Because I’m a dragoman; it’s my job to take people on tours, Miss Evelyn, to wherever they want to go. Couple of years ago, this French scientist wanted to go out into the desert so he could study the stars, so that’s what we did. I asked if I could have a look; he said yes.”

“Oh.”

Evie feels foolish, wrong-footed. She had assumed, at Cairo Prison, that O’Connell was a scoundrel, possibly a conman. He keeps proving her wrong. She knows it is improper to ask, but she has to know. 

“What were you in prison for?”

“Brawling,” he says promptly, “and an inability to pay off the Warden. Also I told him to go fu--to go to hell.”

“Oh,” Evie says again. 

For a long moment they lie in silence. She can sense him still looking at her. 

“Didn’t the ancient Egyptians worship the stars?” O’Connell says at last. 

Is he teasing her?

“Yes,” Evie replies. “They believed the Milky Way was the embodiment of the Goddess Nut.”

“I guess that would make astronomers a little nutty,” O’Connell says, and Evie laughs, surprised. 

“Shhh!” Jonathan grumbles from nearby. 

Evie and O’Connell glance at each other and grin. Evie lies down, pulling her blanket snug around her. 

“Good night, Mr. O’Connell.”

“Good night, Miss Evelyn.”

Funny, Evie thinks as she begins to drowse. She might be starting to genuinely like him. 

Author's Note: this one is kind of a missing scene from my [We Three Together](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1714483) series. I hope you like it! Please leave me a comment and let me know what you think. :-)


	4. Cuddles

**Cuddles**

_Cairo, March 1923_

Rick dropped down onto the sofa in the library of the Zamalek house and gave a low sigh of relief. What a day! A huge shipment of artefacts from Mr. Carter’s discovery down at the Valley of the Kings had arrived at the museum that morning, and he had helped to unload them. It was delicate work, handling King Tut’s burial treasures. A lot of that stuff was  _ heavy. _ Rick kicked his feet out and sank back into the cushions. It was good to be home now. And God bless Fatima for making dinner! There was just enough time for a nap beforehand, if Rick was not mistaken. He closed his eyes. 

Evie, wandering in a few minutes later, smiled to see Rick dozing there on the sofa. He looked so sweet, long legs stretched out, hands folded in his lap. Evie went over and settled in next to him. She, too, had had a long day, sorting and carrying and cataloguing. She tucked her feet up and curled into Rick’s side, looped her arm through his. Naps were always a good idea. 

Jonathan, coming to fetch them to dinner some time later, rolled his eyes to see them asleep together. Really, these two idiots were so adorable it was disgusting.

Author's Note: another prompt on Tumblr! These short pieces are terribly fun to write. [You can request one here!](https://tinydooms.tumblr.com/ask)


	5. Blankets

**Blanket**

  
_Hamunaptra, October 1922_

“Here.”

Evie looked around. O’Connell and Jonathan had just come back from burying the Warden, and now O’Connell was unfolding Evie’s blanket and coming towards her. Evie stared at him, confused--what did he think he was doing?--and started as he slung the blanket around her shoulders. 

“Your hands are shaking,” he said, rather brusquely. “Sit down and I’ll make you some tea.”

“There’s hot water in the kettle,” Evie said, sinking down at the edge of the campfire.

Reaction to the Warden’s sudden, violent death must be catching up with her; she was indeed shaking, and she suddenly felt very small. It was easiest to just sit here, watching O’Connell pottering about their little camp, a steady and solid presence. Capable. She had seen how much calmer Jonathan looked when they came back just now. Anyone who could calm Jonathan down from the brink of an Episode was powerful indeed. Evie swallowed. She so desperately craved reassurance. 

“Are you…” she hesitated and O’Connell looked over at her, his eyebrows raised. “Are you much acquainted with misfortune?”

“If you mean sudden death, then yes.” O’Connell handed her a tin mug of hot tea and Evie wrapped her hands around it. “I used to be a soldier.”

Well, that made abundant sense; of course, he was the right age to have served in the War. 

“And...how do you deal with it?”

O’Connell cocked his head. “It’s complicated,” he said slowly. “Nobody deserves to die horribly. I guess...I try to think of them going on to something better, you know? Whatever that may be.”

“And what do you do if that doesn’t work?”

It was the wrong question to ask; Evie watched something shutter the light in O’Connell’s eyes. 

“Then you fall apart,” he said, standing, “and that doesn’t do anybody any good.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked,” Evie said, chagrinned, but O’Connell was shaking his head. 

“You haven’t had to deal with this kind of thing,” he said. “You’re lucky. You always feel wretched when a companion dies, even if you didn’t like them, but if you’re lucky, it’s not something you have to get used to.”

For a long moment they looked at each other.  _ My parents died suddenly _ , Evie wanted to say, and,  _ What happened to you, Mr. O’Connell?  _ But O’Connell beat her to it. 

“I’m going to go ask Henderson and Burns some questions; something happened to their diggers earlier. Drink your tea; it helps.”

The words were abrupt; he was upset. Whatever rapport they had been building, she had killed it now. But O’Connell hesitated before walking off, and bent over Evie, and tucked the blanket closer around her, muttering about desert nights and cold. Not for the first time, Evie found that she wanted to put her arms around him, put her hands on his body. She sighed. What a complicated situation. 

Author's Note: this was both an answer to a prompt and a missing scene from [We Three Together](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1714483). I rather like it. Please let me know what you think! 


	6. Family Traditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “May I ask you a personal question?”
> 
> Rick looked up, surprised. “‘Course.”
> 
> “What are your Christmas traditions?”

**Family Traditions**

_Cairo, December 1922_

On the first of December, Evie sat with Rick in the library at the Zamalek house, unwrapping Christmas ornaments from their tissue-paper shrouds and laying them out on the table. The house was looking marvelous: Rick and Jonathan had spent the morning with Daoud, hanging electric lights in the courtyard, and Evie and Fatima had gone out to the souk and returned with a potted tamarisk tree to do service as a Christmas tree. Now quiet had descended before dinner, a companionable peace that Evie was coming to associate with Rick. She looked over at him; he flashed her a brief smile as he lay out another painted tin star. 

“May I ask you a personal question?”

Rick looked up, surprised. “‘Course.”

“What are your Christmas traditions?”

It was a question she had been pondering for the last few days. Christmas had always been one of Evie’s favorite holidays, whether it was celebrated in Egypt or in England. Her parents had always favored a Dickensian extravaganza of tree and holly and oodles of decorations and Christmas carols and feasts, and though they had been gone for two years now, the familiar traditions brought peace and comfort. Since Advent Sunday a week ago, Evie and Jonathan had been bringing out boxes of ornaments, and Rick had been very helpful in setting things up. There was often a small smile on his face as he did so, but so far he had not volunteered any information about his own methods of celebration. 

Now Rick cocked his head, considering the question. 

“I haven’t really celebrated the last few years,” he said, slowly. “In ‘19 and ‘20 I was leading tours and they gave all the staff a nice dinner and a bonus, but I didn’t do anything last year because, well.” He made a face. 

_Because you fell apart._ Evie was learning more about Rick every day, but she still wasn’t aware of what had caused the complete emotional collapse that had led to their fateful meeting in Cairo Prison. It would come out, eventually. 

“But what about before that, when you were a child?”

“Oh.” A small grin passed over Rick’s face. He fiddled with the tin star, thinking it over. “Well, the first thing you need to understand is that we were poor, so we couldn’t really afford a lot of the more traditional stuff. We never had a real tree or tons of presents or anything like that.” He paused, gathering his thoughts, and went on. “We had fun, though. I remember it being fun. My mom and I would collect scraps of fancy paper throughout the year and put it away, and then after Thanksgiving we’d pull it all out and cut out shapes. Angels and Santa Claus and stars and things, you know. And we’d cut a Christmas tree out of newspaper and paint it green and pin it to the wall, and then we’d decorate it with the cut-outs.” Rick’s eyes were bright, the grin growing as he remembered. 

“We’d go out some nights to see the lights and the big Christmas tree in the park by the Art Institute; there were always vendors out there and we’d save up so we could get hot chocolate and popcorn. And the drugstore I did chores at sold Christmas trees, so the owner would let me take home broken branches, so we usually had some greenery to put in the windows.”

The words, slow at first, were becoming more animated. Those had been happy times. Evie sat quietly listening, feeling as though any sudden movement would break the spell. 

“Mom liked music,” Rick continued, “and there were always free concerts or cheap ones that we could go to, so we did that a lot on the weekends, and a couple of times we were able to go ice skating in the park. That’s when we were doing a little better. And Christmas itself was fun, too. We’d go out to a diner on Christmas Eve before midnight mass, and on Christmas Day we’d have a feast: roast chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy and all that, and Mom would make a cake for dessert. And for breakfast we’d have pancakes and coffee while we opened presents. I always got a stocking with some chocolate coins and boiled sweets, and every year a thick new sweater and gloves. Sometimes I got a children’s magazine or a puzzle, if we’d had a good year. And I always tried to get Mom something, even if it was just a chocolate bar. I gave her a rouge locket the year I turned ten; it’s the one I have upstairs. But anyway, after dinner we’d go out and look at the lights again, then come home and wrap up in blankets and she’d read ‘A Christmas Carol’ out loud until bedtime. It was nice,” he concluded, his voice trailing off as he came back to the present. He gave Evie a bashful look. “We were poor.”

“It sounds wonderful,” Evie said, resting her hand on his. “It sounds like your mum loved you very much.”

Rick nodded. “She did. I didn’t realize how much until after she died. Orphans didn’t get to have Christmas.” He sighed; she could see him pushing the bad memories away. “I tried again after I escaped, but then the War happened, and well.” He shrugged. 

“Now you can begin again.”

“Yeah.” Rick squeezed her hand. “I’d like that.”

“Here.” Evie stood and went to the desk, rummaging around in one of the drawers. It had to be here somewhere...aha, there it was. She turned back to Rick holding a couple sheets of dyed paper in shades of green and gold and silver and red. “Let’s make some cut-outs, then, for our first Christmas.”

Rick’s whole face changed, bashfulness and curiosity changing to softness. He looked so astonished, so delighted and touched, that Evie bent down and kissed him. Rick cleared his throat before he spoke again. 

“Let’s see if I remember how to do this,” he said, reaching for paper and scissors. “It’s been a long time.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” Evie replied, doing the same. “Practice and all that.”

Rick looked over at her and smiled and smiled. Evie grinned back. She really did love him. 

The paper stars and angels looked lovely on their little tree, surrounded by the rest of the Christmas ornaments.

Author's Note: I am doing a December prompts challenge over on Tumblr; this is the first one of the series. I hope you like it! Please let me know what you think in the comments. :-)


	7. A Homecoming

**A Homecoming**

_Carnahan House, Christmas Eve 1944_

Evie stood in the parlour, gazing unseeing out the window. It was snowing and the gardens and grounds around her English home were transformed into a picture postcard of loveliness, but today it did not inspire the usual joy in her. In her hand, Evie held a gold Christmas angel cut from thick paper; in her pocket was the last letter she had from Rick, dated early November. 

_Things are coming together and I hope it’ll all be over soon, but in case I can’t write for a while, here’s an angel for your Christmas tree. Call me a sentimental fool, but I’ve got its twin right here. I love you, Madame Librarian._

The letter had arrived six weeks ago, bearing Egyptian stamps. And then, nothing. Nothing until a few days ago, when a girl on a bicycle brought a telegram to the door and Evie had learned that her husband and brother were missing in action. She had sat down hard on the floor and wailed until a couple of the Land Girls helped her up and forced a little brandy into her. Missing was better than dead, they had pointed out, but Evie was old enough to remember the Great War, and knew that _missing in action_ and _dead_ were often one and the same. And so here she stood, looking out at the snow and trying not to fall apart.

“Mum?” 

Alex leaned into the room, looking smart in his brand-new Home Guard uniform. Evie put her paper angel into her pocket and tried to smooth the worry out of her face. 

“What is it, love?”

“Mrs. Bythell wondered if you’d like some tea before the party.”

“No, thanks. That’s kind, but I’m not…”

She trailed off. Alex was looking at her with badly disguised worry, and God, when did he get so big? Only yesterday he had been a baby in her arms. 

“They’ll be okay,” he said. “Dad laid down Imhotep and the Scorpion King, and those mummies in Peru, too, remember? He can survive the War, and so can Uncle Jon. They’ll be fine.”

Evie took a deep breath. “I know. I know. And we’ll have a nice Christmas. They’d want that.”

Alex nodded, encouraged. “The party’ll be nice. Everything’s ready.”

Ah yes, the party, their yearly Christmas Eve carol party for the evacuated children and Land Girls who had lived in their home the past few years. Evie repressed a sigh. There was nothing she wanted to do less than attend that evening. But the War was affecting everyone and it wouldn’t do to let down the side by going to pieces. Evie put on her brave face and went to change into her party dress. 

*

Darkness had long since fallen when an army truck stopped outside of Calnford, two miles away from Carnahan House. A pair of men scrambled out of the back, calling their thanks to the driver, who saluted before driving off. Both were well-muffled against the cold in army-issue boots and scarves and greatcoats, each loaded down with a duffel bag. 

“They could’ve dropped us a little closer to the house,” Jonathan remarked. “And don’t tell me it’s because of the gas ration. Two miles wouldn’t have emptied the tank.”

Rick grinned. “Come on, it’s not that bad. It could be worse.”

“Yes,” Jonathan mused as they set off across the snowy fields. “We could still be with the thrice-damned Jones. And you thought I had magpie fingers.”

Rick laughed. He was so happy. They had prevented the end of the world (again) and prevented a Priceless But Dangerous Artefact from falling into the wrong hands (again), and they were almost home. Another hour, tops, and he would see Evie and Alex, would hold them close and kiss them both and never leave them again. The Home Guard: that was their new assignment, now that that mess in Egypt was finally sorted. And they were home on Christmas Eve. Tramping through the fresh snow, Rick felt like singing. 

It had snowed all day, but now the night was clear, moonlight reflecting off the snow and turning the whole world silver. They could see Carnahan House clearly as they approached, despite the blackout. As they got nearer, Rick could hear music leaking out through the windows. Christmas carols. 

“Sounds like a party,” he said, feeling his grin widen. 

“Brilliant.” Jonathan was grinning, too. 

The front door was unlocked. They let themselves into the hall, kicking the snow from their boots and slinging their overcoats onto the overflowing coat rack, dumping their bags nearby. From the parlor came the sound of young voices raised in song, accompanied by someone on the piano. They were singing The First Noel. Rick and Jonathan glanced at each other and, as one, joined the singing as they walked into the room. 

Evie stood near the back of the parlor in her pretty green evening dress, empty glass in hand, silently watching the revelers. The party was a roaring success, the children and Land Girls filled with treats and entertained with silly party games. There had been hot chocolate for the children and mulled wine for the adults, and now they were all gathered around Mrs. Bythell at the piano, singing their hearts out. Evie could only listen; her throat was far too tight to sing. Christmas carols always touched her, even when she wasn’t sad and beside herself with worry. First there was “Angels from the Realms of Glory”, then “Jingle Bells”, then “Deck the Halls”, and now “The First Noel”, which had always been one of her favorites. Evie twirled her empty glass in her hand as the group sang, their sweet voices bright and jolly. After a few verses, men’s voices joined them, a baritone and a tenor, singing loudly. 

_And by the light of that same star_

_Three wise men came from country far_

_To seek a King was their intent_

_And to follow the star wherever it went_

Evie turned, the empty glass falling out of her hand. Rick and Jonathan stood in the doorway, grinning broadly as they sang the chorus. Disbelief rooted Evie to the spot; she couldn’t believe her own eyes. Rick here, Jonathan here, singing Christmas carols in their uniforms. 

Then, “Dad! Uncle Jon!” yelled Alex, and the spell was broken, and Evie stumbled across the room and flung herself into her husband’s arms, burying her face in his neck. The wool of his uniform jacket was scratchy under her cheek, shifting as Rick wrapped his arms around her. Evie breathed in his familiar scent and burst into tears. 

“Sweetheart,” Rick whispered, rocking her. “Honey love. Don’t cry.”

He pressed his lips to the top of her head, to her temple. Evie lifted her head, caught his face between her hands, and kissed him. Rick was warm and solid in her arms, his lips lovely against hers, and for a few moments they were oblivious to the assorted groans and cheers from the company. Then Rick broke the kiss and rubbed her nose with his, and Evie almost cried again. 

“You’re here!” she whispered, brushing her hands over his face, tracing his familiar features. He looked tired, and there was a little more grey in his hair than there had been the last time she saw him, but he was still her Rick. Still her own darling. “You’re alive!” 

“‘Course I’m alive,” Rick said, surprised. “What, did you think--”

“I got a telegram! It said you were missing in action--” Evie broke off, looking from her husband to her brother, standing nearby with Alex. She reached out and pulled Jonathan to them, hugging him tight. “It said you were both missing--”

“Missing in action?” Jonathan said, wrapping his arms around both Evie and Rick. “Nonsense. We both knew exactly where we were, the whole time.”

Evie laughed and burst into tears again. Rick held her tight, then reached to pull Alex in, and the four of them clung to each other as Mrs. Bythell struck up a new carol in order to give them the illusion of privacy. 

Eventually Alex and Jonathan rejoined the chorus, but Evie stood safe in the circle of Rick’s arms, holding him close. Rick rested his cheek on her hair, occasionally brushing kisses across her face. 

“Merry Christmas, Evie,” he whispered. “Merry Christmas, my darling girl.”

Author's Note: this came to me while driving today and I had to tell it to myself over and over and over so that I wouldn't forget it. It's the second outing of my December advent calendar, the prompt being "Singing Christmas songs loudly". I hope you like it! Please leave me a comment and let me know what you think. Thanks! 


	8. Ritual Dance

**Ritual Dance**

_Cairo, December 1931_

“Alex? What are you doing, kiddo?”

What Alex is doing looks like some kind of bizarre dance. He is wiggling around the courtyard, arms and legs akimbo, sunlight glinting in his hair. Rick watches his six year old boy with a grin; this kid is the best source of entertainment he knows of. 

“I’m doing my snow dance. If I do it enough, it’ll snow.” 

Alex executes a neat three-point turn and does a somersault before jumping up and skipping backwards around the fountain. Rick hides his grin. 

“Kiddo, it’s too warm for snow in Egypt. We warned you about that, remember?”

“Yeah, but I don’t like it,” Alex says. “It should be snowy on Christmas.”

Rick leans against the fountain. “So you’re dancing, huh?”

“Uh-huh! Mum says the Ancient Egyptians--” jump, wriggle, hop “--they did Ritual Dances so that--” spin, hop, butt shake “--that the gods would give them what they wanted.” Shake, shake, hop. “And I want snow!”

Rick covers his mouth with his hand. “I think the Ancient Egyptians wanted rain for their fields. It doesn’t snow in Egypt.”

Alex stops dancing, crestfallen. “No snow for Christmas?”

“Not this year, sweetheart. How about we go get ice cream, instead?”

Alex brightens. “Can we get two scoops each?”

“Sure, why not?” Rick scoops his son up and pops him onto his shoulders. 

“How about three?”

“Don’t push your luck,” Rick says, and laughing they go to find their shoes. 

Author's Note: this was written to a prompt over on Tumblr. If you'd like to request a story or see how you can otherwise get involved, [pop over to my blog! ](https://tinydooms.tumblr.com/ask)


	9. Eggnog

**Eggnog**

**This story has an M rating and is NSFW**

_Oxford, December 1924_

Evie swiveled the taps with her toes. A long stream of steaming hot water poured into the bath. She leaned back against Rick with a contented sigh. 

“That’s better.”

Rick ran a hand through the hot water, scooping it over Evie’s breasts and cupping them in his hands. “We’re probably emptying the cistern.”

“Probably,” Evie agreed lazily. “Mmm. That’s nice.”

Rick grinned and dropped a kiss onto her shoulder. Their little rented Oxford flat was perfectly comfortable, but after twenty years of balmy North African winters, the cold and snow was a bit of a shock to his system, and so when Evie had suggested a hot bath to thaw their frozen toes, Rick had happily agreed. It wasn’t a big tub, but they fit in it just fine. 

“Would you like another drink?”

“Yes,” Evie said, and Rick reached for the bottle of eggnog they were sharing. Evie took a swig and handed it back to him. 

“Do you know, I think champagne is more common for this situation,” she teased. 

Rick drank and set the bottle back on the edge of the tub. “Only in the pictures, honey, or trashy novels.”

Evie giggled; the nog was strong. Rick laughed with her, happy and loose and comfortable. He scooted them a little lower in the water and slipped a hand between Evie’s legs, making her gasp. 

“Tell me about your day,” he said, pressing a kiss to the soft place beneath her ear, letting his fingers rub smooth circles inside her. 

“It--it was,” Evie breathed, “it was fine. I spent a--a few hours at the, ooh, at the Ashmolean working with the--aah-the papyri. Rick!”

Rick chuckled, low and deep. He wrapped his hand around Evie’s throat and deepened his strokes. His wife squirmed, panting. 

“Go on,” he murmured. 

“Ooh, you meanie!” She grasped his wrist where he held her throat and took a deep breath. “Okay. I worked all--all morning at the Ash and then I--then I ate lunch in--in a teashop and then I--I--” She moaned. 

“Go on,” Rick whispered.He had her exactly where he wanted her. 

“I spend the rest of--of the day at the--the New Bod; I worked on my trans-translations of--oh my _God!”_

She gave a cry and spasmed against Rick’s hand. One arm knocked the eggnog bottle over; it toppled over sideways onto the bathroom floor, spilling its contents on the tiles. Oblivious, Rick held Evie to him, stroking her hard and whispering filthy encouragement into her ear. 

Some things were more important than spilled booze, and Evie’s pleasure was right at the top of Rick’s list. 

Author's Note: this was written for the Christmas/Winter prompts on Tumblr. The Ashmolean Museum in Oxford holds one of the biggest collections of Egyptian artefacts in Europe. Want to contribute a prompt or otherwise get involved? [Come talk to me on Tumblr! ](https://tinydooms.tumblr.com/ask)


	10. Silent Night

**Silent Night**

_Cairo, December 1923_

Rick lay in Evie’s arms, warm and smooth and comfortable. It had been another long day of preparing for their upcoming dig upriver at Aswan, but everything was finally packed and ready to go. They had celebrated with a nice dinner and a long soak in the bathtub, and were now retired to bed for a little hanky-panky before slumber. Rick felt warm and relaxed, lying back on the pillows with Evie stretched out on top of him. She trailed languid kisses over his face and neck, her long loose hair tickling his bare skin. Rick closed his eyes and breathed her in; she smelled so good. He smiled and relaxed even more into her touch. 

After a few moments, Evie realized just how still her lover had gone. She raised her eyes to his face. 

“Rick. Rick?”

There was a long pause, then, “Hmmm?”

“Are you asleep?”

“No,” he mumbled. 

Evie grinned. “Then where are we?”

“Hmmm,” Rick mumbled again. “At the library.”

Laughter bubbled up in Evie’s chest. She kissed the corner of her sleeping man’s mouth and slipped off of him, cuddling up alongside and twitching the blanket over them both. Ah, well. There would be time enough for lovemaking later.

Author's Note: part of the Christmas challenge over on Tumblr, the prompt was "Silent Night". I do like a good pun. :-)


	11. Theirs is Joy

**Joy Is Theirs**

I.

Margaret O’Connell loves to see the stars shine in her little boy’s eyes. It is not easy, the life they lead, just the two of them in a world that cannot stand single mothers and fatherless boys. She cannot give Richard the luxuries he deserves, but she can keep him fed and clothed and out of the factories, and she can give him Christmas. 

It is their Christmas tradition to eat out on Christmas Eve, settling into a booth at one of Chicago’s many diners. This is the one night of the year where Richard can order anything he wants and he always, but always, orders chicken and waffles and an ice cream soda. Margaret eats soup and a grilled sandwich and delights in watching her child eat, even if when he is smaller, Richard can’t always finish the dinner. They don’t have much, but she can give him this.  On Christmas Day she prepares a feast: pancakes and orange juice and coffee for breakfast, and later, after church, a whole roasted chicken and potatoes. They eat at the tiny table in their afterthought of a kitchen, Richard in his new sweater, Margaret in her nicest frock, reading each other jokes from the children’s magazine she gives him every year. Later they read “A Christmas Carol” together, and Margaret does all of the voices, making Richard laugh and laugh. Good. Christmas should be fun for small boys. Small boys who have fun and happiness in their lives will grow up to be good men, Margaret hopes and prays. Her family may have turned their backs on her for having Richard, and Joe may have abandoned him, but the O’Connells know joy. It is theirs, for Christmas.

II.

Salwa Carnahan sits at Christmas dinner and surveys her little family. They have outdone themselves for Christmas this year. The table is laden with all of the traditional foods: onion soup, roast potatoes, an enormous roast goose, gravy, Yorkshire pudding and stuffing and Brussell’s sprouts and cranberry sauce, wine and mince pies and Christmas pudding. Salwa has come to like the food, though it still seems too much sometimes. She wants her family to be as properly English as they can. It is not easy: her marriage to Alexander caused quite the scandal, even though Salwa was already a Christian, and the English people are very insistent that she does not belong and never will. It would not be so painful if only they would leave her children alone. Salwa cannot give them English society or her Egyptian family. The one will never fully accept them and the other cut ties with her when she married Alexander. But Salwa can give them a merry Christmas. She can give them Dickensian meals and overstuffed Christmas stockings and presents under the tree. Evie with her great love of learning and Jonathan with his enjoyment of magic tricks, Alexander with his love of exploration and unwavering belief in the importance of her work: these are the loves of Salwa’s life and she holds them close. The world may be cold and cruel, but joy is theirs. 

III.

On Christmas morning, Rick and Evie sit at the base of their potted tamarisk Christmas tree and roll a ball back and forth to each other. Alex, only just over a year old, falls back and forth between his parents, screaming with laughter as he tries to catch it. The remains of breakfast are still on the table--pancakes and juice and coffee--and later they will eat a Christmas dinner cobbled together of various traditions. There will be roast chicken and Yorkshire puddings and gravy, as well harira and vegetable tagine from Rick’s time in Morocco, and the koshari and fiteer without which no Egyptian meal is complete. They are a small family, mother and father and baby and uncle, but they are together, making the world their own. What do they care what anyone thinks of them? Joy is theirs and it’s Christmas day. 

Author's Note: this is another prompt for the Christmas challenge, this time featuring the mothers. I hope you like it! 


	12. At the British Museum

**At the British Museum**

_ London, September 1924 _

“It’s haunted, you know.”

“‘Course it is.”

“The security staff say that if you stay on late into the night, you can hear whispers in the gallery.”

“‘Course they do.”

Evie paused mid-stride and looked at her husband. Rick looked unperturbed, ambling along beside her, hands in pockets. He raised his eyebrows at the look on her face. 

“You can’t scare me, Madame Librarian,” he said wryly, “I believed in this stuff before I took you to Hamunaptra. You’re the one who didn’t believe in curses. Besides,” he added, nodding at the Easter Island head they stood before, “Can you blame them for acting up? Thousands of miles from home, and people come in and stare at them all day and don’t always give them the respect they deserve or don’t care to learn about their cultural significance. If it were me, I’d do my best to scare the night crew, too.”

Evie put her arm through Rick’s, smiling. “Have I told you today that I love you?”

Rick dropped a kiss onto her forehead. “Yeah, but you can tell me again.”

Evie laughed. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. And I am fully prepared to do whatever it takes to lay down any ghosts that you wake up.”

Evie laughed again as they resumed their stroll through the galleries. Somehow she suspected that working at the British Museum would be an adventure. Behind them, the artefacts whispered amongst themselves.

Author's Note: this was a prompt over on Tumblr. The British Museum is quite reasonably haunted, [say some of the folks who work there,](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.economist.com%2F1843%2F2020%2F04%2F28%2Fare-ghosts-haunting-the-british-museum&t=MDk1NDFkZjM5MjdhNDE1MzQ4NDg2N2NmMWUxYTNjZDRlNGRlNDJlZSxpS2tNRXJqdQ%3D%3D&b=t%3A0bXEdLxSiOAbuxvez9_1sA&p=https%3A%2F%2Ftinydooms.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F639428522976444416%2Frick-and-evie-at-a-museum-hehe&m=1&ts=1609877824) and anyway, what more can you expect of any institution that houses thousands of years of relics of human history? Haunted Museum stories are some of my favorite stories. :-) 


	13. At the Seaside

**At the Seaside**

_St. Ives, Cornwall, July 1925_

Evie lay back in her lounge chair and tipped her face to the sun. What a lovely day it was! Hot without being unpleasant and not a cloud in the sky. Sunlight danced off the waves that crashed and rolled along the Cornish coast. How nice it was here in St. Ives, alongside the sea but not at one of the more popular watering holes; she was going to let Rick pick their holiday locations more often. 

The baby gave her a solid whack and Evie rubbed her belly, murmuring reassurances. “Dad will be right back; he’s only gone to fetch us an ice cream; settle down.”

The baby kicked Evie’s hand; she tapped it back and it kicked again. Really, this was the most bizarre feeling, but quite nice. This baby was going to be an active child. _Like its father,_ Evie thought with a grin. She’d said as much to Rick that morning, when they arrived early enough on the beach for her to swim without being stared at. Her husband had laughed and flicked water at her, bobbing along at her side. _Like its mum, always on the go._

Evie crossed her legs at the ankle and closed her eyes behind their red sunshades. If you had asked her five years ago what she thought she would be doing now, being on holiday on Cornwall while pregnant, taking a break from working on her Ph.D would not have made the cut. Nor would being married, certainly not to a man as lovely as Rick O’Connell. Not at the same time, anyway. There had been those who cautioned her, early on, against marrying him too quickly, but Evie was glad that she had listened to her own heart and mind. There were some things, like fighting the undead and saving the world, that taught you what kind of a person a man was more than any date could. 

Not that she would ever tell anyone that. The adventure with Imhotep sounded like something straight out of the pulp press. 

A shadow fell over her. Evie opened her eyes. Rick had come up beside her, holding an ice cream cone in each hand. 

“They only had chocolate swirl,” he said, handing one to Evie. 

“You mean I’ll have to eat both chocolate _and_ vanilla? However will I survive?” Evie grinned. Rick grinned back, settling down in the seat beside her with his own ice cream. 

“I know. Hopefully the little one likes chocolate.”

“I think all children like chocolate,” Evie said. 

She looked over her sunglasses at Rick, sitting there in his blue swim shorts and loose cotton shirt, his long legs stretched out and his body very tan. God, he was so handsome. She’d thought so at Hamunaptra and she thought so now. Handsome and kind and sweet and smart, and he loved her. 

“What?” Rick asked. 

Evie shook her head. “I just really love you. Have I told you that today?”

“Aw, honey, I love you too,” Rick said. 

She opened her mouth to say more and the baby kicked her, right in the bladder, and so it came out “Ow” instead. Rick leaned over and put his hand on her belly, rubbed it gently. 

“Hey, now, be nice,” he said. “Let your mum eat her ice cream.”

Evie grinned. “Will you come over here and kiss me?”

“Oh, gladly.”

Rick was warm in her arms; he tasted of sea salt and ice cream and Evie nuzzled his face, leaning into him. She was sure that people were staring, but who cared about any of them? No one could disapprove of a woman kissing her husband in public when it was more than obvious to anyone with eyes that they did a lot more than just kiss each other. At almost six months pregnant, Evie was hardly able to hide her out-to-here belly. 

The baby, perhaps annoyed at being leaned on, whacked her in the ribs. Rick and Evie broke apart, laughing. 

“This one’s going to ruckus,” Rick said. 

“It knows its duty to its family,” Evie agreed. She raised her half-eaten ice cream. “To ruckusing!” 

“To ruckusing,” Rick said. 

They bopped ice creams and laughed.

Author's Note: this was done for a prompt on Tumblr. If you'd like to [come over and hang out](https://tinydooms.tumblr.com/ask), please feel free. We have fun here. I hope you like the story!


	14. The Magic Words

**The Magic Words**

There is a Thing that Alex can do, that he hasn’t told anyone about. He learned how to do it at Ahm Shere, in that terrible half hour between his mother’s death and her resurrection. And that is to Bring People Back. 

You see, some things leave an impression. Sometimes the impressions are nightmares, like he has after the whole misadventure (and it turns out that in real life, adventures aren’t necessarily as fun as they are in books. Alex feels a real kinship with Bilbo Baggins, who just wants to go home most of the time). And sometimes, the impressions are the absolute inability to forget the words that brought Mum back after  _ She _ killed her. 

_ Hootash naraba oos Veesloo. Ahm kum Ra. Ahm kum Dei. Efday Shokran Ahmenophus.  _

The words are stuck in Alex’s head, the hieroglyphs burned into his memory forever. That first morning after Ahm Shere, after Izzy Buttons flew them back to Aswan, Alex wrote them down on a piece of paper. Just in case, he told himself, so he never, ever,  _ ever _ has to hear Dad make that awful thin sound again, like someone was pressing down on his lungs as he screams, or see Mum staring lying dead, or hear Uncle Jon whispering furiously to Dad to  _ kill Imhotep and then  _ **_come back_ ** and  _ damn it, Rick, don’t you  _ **_dare_ ** _ make that boy an orphan _ . 

Maybe someday Alex will tell someone about the words. Maybe someday he will have to use them to save the people he loves. But for now he keeps the slip of paper in his pocket and the words at the back of his memory, prepared for anything. And then, four years after Ahm Shere, Mum and Dad and Uncle Jon are invited to join a dig in Peru--not because they know much about Peruvian history, but because they are really good archaeologists and the dig is being overseen by one of Mum’s former students and in any case, how would Alex like to spend the season in South America?

There are mummies in Peru. Alex takes a deep breath and puts on a bright face. Of course he wants to travel! And if any of them die, well, at least he has the remedy for that kept safely tucked away. He hopes he will never have to use them.

Author's Note: I have Ideas about how the events at Ahm Shere affected the O'Connell/Carnahan gang, and it'll get written down eventually, but for now have this little short, written on a whim.


End file.
